


Trust and Blood Lust

by PuppiesRainbowsSadism



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Drinking, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Non-Graphic Gore, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Addiction, References to Drugs, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 07:59:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4996891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuppiesRainbowsSadism/pseuds/PuppiesRainbowsSadism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Benny knows he is not a nice person, so he doesn't understand why Sam thinks he is."</p><p>That was supposed to be the starter to this fic, but it turned out to be more about how monstrous Benny feels and how much Sam trusts him, rather than how nice or not nice Benny is.</p><p>Contrary to the tags, there is no rape in this fic. But the way Sam words something sounds rapey, so better safe than sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust and Blood Lust

**Author's Note:**

> This is all glitterlisp@tumblr's fault.
> 
> This was supposed to be a little five hundred word drabble damn you.

He’s killed innocent people, lured them into dark allies and drained them of blood. He tried not to kill them, every time, but his bloodlust always won over. No, Benny is a horrible person, and he know he will never atone for what he’s done.

So he has no idea why Sam has so much faith in him, why he trusts him to keep company and share a bed, why he trusts him with his life, why he trusts him at all.

He’s been living off blood bags -- they try to steal the more common ones, the ones blood banks have in excess -- and that’s sated him, but there’s still an edge, still an itch to kill. It terrifies him, so he treats Sam as if he’s made of glass, so there’s no chance he might lose control on him. Sam trusts that Benny won’t lose control on him. He eggs him on, tells him it’s okay to be rougher. He likes it rough sometimes. But Benny can’t. He just can’t.

He doesn’t realise just how deeply Sam’s trust runs until he gets hurt on a hunt. Hurt hurt. Impending death hurt. Vampires heal incredibly fast, but not fast enough for this.

Well, he had a good run. He’s certainly going to miss the Winchesters, especially Sam’s love and care.

Just as Benny’s vision is getting blurry, Sam’s at his side immediately, still wearing the stone cold expression he wears when he fights, but it’s softened by his glistening eyes.

“We can fix this,” Sam says matter-of-factly, as if this is just another dislocated shoulder or a bullet wound that’s gonna need stitches.

“Sam, I don’t think -- “ Dean tries, sounding mournful already.

“We can fix this,” Sam insists, shedding his flannel and pressing it to the wound. It bleeds through almost immediately, but he keeps pressure on it with one hand and offers his other to Benny. “Drink.” he orders.

Sam’s always smelled so sweet. Well, not sweet, but he smells so good. It’s taken a lot of restraint not to jump him when he got so much as a paper cut.

“No,” Benny tries to say, but it comes out like a gurgle. He’s getting vertigo. How does that happen when he’s laying down?

Sam is stubborn. That’s one of the first things he realised about the hunter when they first met, when they were complete strangers.

With detached efficiency, Sam bites down --  _hard_  -- on his own hand, drawing blood where his teeth were. Benny would flinch if he could. Human teeth are so dull. That had to hurt.

“Sam what the fuck -- ?!”

“Drink,” Sam orders again, shoving his bloody hand in Benny’s face. Benny tries to resist -- this is  _Sam_ , not some nameless faceless blood bag he can drain. But Sam’s hand is bleeding profusely, and a few drops drip onto Benny’s tongue.

The next thing he knows, he has his fangs buried in Sam’s hand and is drinking like his life depends on it. Well, it kind of does. Slowly, his vision clears. His wound is still bleeding, but it’s beginning to close thanks to the fresh blood.

Benny closes his eyes and savours the taste he’s denied himself for so long -- not just fresh blood but Sam’s blood.

 _Sam’s blood_.

Immediately, Benny’s fangs retract, and he backs away from Sam. He can’t believe -- he almost -- 

Sam is pale, swaying a little where he kneels, but he’s smiling wide. “Thank God,” he sighs.

“Sam, you fucking idiot!” Benny shouts, his anger dissipating when Sam’s eyes flutter and his swaying turns into falling. Benny catches him at the same time Dean kneels beside his brother.

He calls his brother’s name, slaps his face, shakes him, and Benny eventually growls and stands, carrying Sam bridal style and walking away.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?!” Dean shouts, running after Benny.

“The car. We need to get Sam to the bunker.”

“What the hell did you do to my brother?”

“Nothing worse than the damage you did when you shook ‘im. Probably has a damn concussion or something.”

“Benny -- just -- let me see -- “

Benny rounds on Dean, and even though Dean’s got an inch or so on him, and the hill they’re walking down is no help, Benny towers over Dean.

“You’ll just make it worse. You wanna help? Get the car as close as you can. Sam’ll live, but we  _have_  to get him back.

Dean sneers but jogs ahead to get the car.

Benny is not a good person. He’s killed people by drinking them. What the hell was Sam thinking?

When Sam wakes up, Benny’s not there. Dean doesn’t trust him to be anywhere near Sam after their last hunt, and rightfully so. Benny relocated to the other side of the bunker and moved the minifridge of blood to his room so he doesn’t have to leave for any reason.

His self-imposed isolation lasts seventeen days, and all that time he has to pace and stare at the ceiling and think.

Why the hell did Sam risk his life for him? How the hell can one person be so trusting, so charitable . . .

So self-sacrificial.

On day seventeen, there’s a knock on his door. He doesn’t answer immediately, still a little lost in his thoughts, but he is climbing out of his bed when there’s another knock and Dean calling, “C’mon, Benny just get out here.”

He does, tentatively, but closes the door behind him. He and Dean are almost chest to chest, and his face is a mask of conflicting emotions. Benny can’t ever read him by scent.

“You know,” Dean says softly, evenly, “you’re like a brother to me. You know that. But you’re  _not_  my brother. Sammy comes first, always. When you – “ Dean interrupts himself to take a deep breath. “When you and Sam started this . . .  _thing_  you got going, I told you not to hurt him. This isn’t what I meant, but I swear to God, if Sammy didn’t care about you so much, your head would’ve been rolling down these hallways two weeks ago.”

Benny doesn’t say anything. What can he say to that? That he agrees? That he’d gladly decapitate himself if he hadn’t pulled away from Sam when he did? It’s all true, but Benny gets the feeling Dean doesn’t want to hear it.

“I’ve never seen Sam so weak,” Dean continues, his strong voice wavering. “He’s never lost this much blood. He’s never been stuck in bed for a number of days, let alone weeks.” Dean sighs and steps back, putting more space between them. “I wouldn’t say this is the worst I’ve ever seen him, but it’s up there. Top five, maybe.” He exhales heavily again, like he’s trying to keep himself under control. Benny is very familiar with the concept.

“Whatever,” Dean grumbles. “He wants to see you.”

Benny hesitates. He has a feeling Dean only came to carry that message but took the chance to give his little rant without Sam hearing. He steps to the side and doesn’t follow Benny to Sam’s room. Trust enough to leave them alone together – an olive branch.

Benny taps on the door to Sam’s room with one finger, half contemplating just locking himself back in his room before he hears a soft chuckle and a very small – much too small, much too weak – “Come in, Benny.”

He does, opening the door slowly as if it’ll spare him the sight of Sam sat up in his bed, still deathly pale but, Benny’s happy to see, he has a bit more colour in his cheeks. There’s a book set to his right that he’s obviously ignoring in favour of smiling up at Benny, as if the vampire didn’t almost kill him.

Benny spots a mostly empty glass of orange juice on the nightstand and clears his throat. “Do you, ah, want me to refill that?”

Sam rolls his eyes and then grimaces. “No. I’m sick of orange juice. I want you to stop being a stranger and talk to me. This is your room too, you know.”

Benny doesn’t answer. Instead, he sits on the side of Sam’s – their – bed and picks up Sam’s arm where it lays gently at Sam’s side. Benny can trace every blue and purple vein with his eyes, and does so with a finger up to Sam’s elbow. Sam shivers, and Benny’s never felt guiltier.

“How much blood did I -- ?” He starts, then wishes he stopped himself sooner. “I mean, how long are ya gonna be stuck up in here?”

Sam smiles and, when Benny drops his arm, takes the vampire’s hand. “Dean thinks it was about two quarts, give or take. I think it was closer to three. In any case, I’m stuck here until I can stand up without blacking out.”

Benny swears under his breath.

“I’m a big guy, Benny,” Sam continues. “If I were the size of . . . I dunno. Cas, maybe. He’s pretty average. I’d probably be screwed. But I have a bit more blood in me than the average guy. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine!” Benny snaps. He’s not angry with Sam, not in the least, but he won’t look the hunter in the eyes. “This is not fine. Why did you – what the hell . . . Sam, what on God’s green Earth were you  _thinkin_ ’?”

“I was thinking I could save your life.”

“At the cost of yours? Never. Never again.”

“Benny, look at me.” He doesn’t but he can tell Sam’s gesturing broadly. “I’m alive. I’m fine. Give me a week, ten days tops, and I’ll be good as new.”

“Never. Again,” Benny asserts. “Do you know how close I came to drainin’ you? I’ve  _killed_  people for fresh blood, Sam. I’ve drained them dry and left them in gutters, and what? You think it’s a good idea to let me – to – to just shove your blood in my face and – “

“I trust you,” Sam interrupts.

“Well, you shouldn’t! Not with this. I almost . . .  _God_ , I coulda – “

“Benny,” Sam says softly, and finally Benny looks up at him. Besides being pale as the sheets around him, Sam does look healthy, and his expression is open and happy and – goddammit – trusting. “Listen, okay? I trusted you not to kill me because I know what it’s like, and if I know you half as well as I think I do . . . well, you’re ten times stronger than I ever was.”

“You know what it’s like?” Benny repeats incredulously. Rarely does he challenge Sam, but he can’t let that one go. “You know what it’s like to crave – to  _need_  blood like this? To suck down bag after bag and feel more and more like a monster each time? You know what that’s like?” Benny scoffs. “You’ve been through a lot,  _mon cher_ , but you can’t convince me you were ever a vampire.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Sam concedes. “But Dean was, for a while. He can probably relate to you better than I can, but, uh, we don’t really talk about it.” Sam’s silent for a spell. He licks his lips, checks to make sure the door’s closed. Dean could have his ear pressed against the opposite side, for all Benny cares, but it seems important to Sam that they have this privacy.

He pulls Benny’s hand into his lap and plays with it, preoccupying himself, stalling. This time it’s Sam who won’t look Benny in the eyes.

“I’ve never told anyone about this,” he admits softly. “At least, I don’t think I have. I’m almost positive the only living person who knows this is Dean. No, wait, Cas knows, but he was there. He was . . . kind of part of it. But, yeah, Benny. I can relate. At first it was a full flask – rarely straight from the source until later. But I’ve sucked people dry too. There was this nurse . . . “ Sam stops himself with a shake of his head and tears in his eyes. “That was the worst one,” he whispers. Benny takes back his hand and uses it to cover both of Sam’s. Sam is shaking, and somehow Benny knows it’s not because of the blood loss. “And the gallons. There were four of them, all almost completely full, and I didn’t ask – I never asked how they got them, but there had to be at least . . . five people in there. Jesus. I never did the math before. I just . . . “

A tear lands on Benny’s hand, and he sees Sam’s crying – been crying, by the looks of it – and he immediately pulls Sam in, just to hold him. He has no idea what the hell Sam’s talking about, but he can do this. He’s done this before. Sam cries silently into Benny’s chest, and Benny shushes him, whispering sweet nothings, some in French and some in English, and runs his hand through Sam’s hair.

Sam seems to get that Benny doesn’t have any context, because after a moment, he whispers into Benny’s collarbone, “I was addicted to demon blood, Benny.”

Benny stills for only a second before he’s back to reassuring Sam.

“No, listen to me,” Sam says sternly, but softly, and he holds Benny closer, buries his face in his neck. “I was addicted to demon blood for. . . a year? Two? I don’t remember. Once an addict, always an addict, I guess, and I fell off the wagon once or twice. Even now, it’s difficult. If some demons get the jump on us, it’s all I can do not to drink from the first one I slice open just for that power trip. Because even after all this time and all my mistakes, I know I can be so much better, so much stronger and – and more helpful if I do it.”

“ _Mon loup_ ,” Benny sighs, his heart hurting for Sam. “I get it. I do. But that’s different. I’m – I’m not gonna lie, I’ve jumped a whore or an addict here and there – people no one wold miss, you know? That doesn’t make it any better, but . . . It was worse when Dean brought me back the first time. Now I have a lil more restraint. And you. You help a lot. But I still – I’ve slipped up. More recently. An’ . . . I’m not a good person, Sam. I’m just not. You shouldn’t have trusted me.”

“It’s  _not_  different,” Sam asserts adamantly, keeping a grip on Benny’s shoulders but pulling back to look at him. Benny hates to see the suffering in Sam’s face, the self-loathing. It’s almost always there, at least under something else, and Benny would give anything to make it go away. “Benny, you’re not  _listening_. Yeah, I don’t know what you go through on a day-to-day basis. At least, not anymore. I used to need a hit every day to keep myself in check. And I’ve killed people because of it. Like it or not, demons are people. I mean, they’re possessing people, and nine times out of ten, that person is alive. That nurse – oh my God – that nurse. The demon in her took a backseat. That poor woman was begging me to let her go, to help her. She was so scared and so desperate and I . . . I sliced right through an artery and drank her dry.”

Sam swallows and looks like he’s trying to control his breathing even as fresh tears have sprung to his eyes.

“If either of us is a monster, it’s me. You kill people nobody will miss – which isn’t  _good_ , but it sure as hell beats killing innocent people. That poor girl had a family. She went through years of training to become a nurse, just for a demon to possess her and for me to drink her blood.”

Benny opens his mouth to speak, but Sam covers it with one of his hands, sending the very clear message that he isn’t to interrupt, even as Sam rests his head on Benny’s shoulder and tries to get his breathing back in control.

“There’s a point to me telling you this,” Sam says when he finally drops his hand and lifts his head – just a few inches, not turning his head but side-eyeing Benny hard. “I’m telling you so you don’t beat yourself up over this. So you don’t think you almost killed me when I was the one who dangled a bone in front of a dog with the purpose of him taking it.” Sam cringes. “Bad analogy. Sorry. But Benny . . . you are  _not_  a horrible person. You are one of the kindest, most loving, most selfless people I know. Hell, I don’t know that many people anymore, so you’re probably number one. You are a good man, a better man than I am or will ever be. And I know how hard it is to stop drinking, but I trusted you to be stronger than me.”

Benny feels tears burning his eyes, and he tries his damndest not to let them fall. Sam was leaning on him for support, needed him to be strong. But there was no strength left. At the same time that Sam held onto him for dear life, trying to hide his silent sobs, Benny clutched Sam tighter and buried his face in Sam’s hair. Sam always smells so nice, and sometimes that’s a problem, but now it’s just comforting. He smells the Old Spice 3-in-1 thing Sam swears by, and it’s like coming home.

He almost lost this. By his own damn hand, he almost lost the most important thing in his life.

“Sam,” Benny starts after some time. An indeterminable amount of time. It could have been a few minutes or a few hours. Either way, Benny’s voice broke, and he tried again. “Sam. Thank you. For telling me. You didn’t have to.”

“I did. I needed you to understand – “

“I understand just fine.” He pries Sam off him and just looks at him. God, even sick and suffering, Sam is beautiful. “Sounds like you had a provider, someone who pushed you into drinking demon blood and, just like with any drug, you got hooked. That’s not your fault.”

Sam laughs wetly and sniffs. “Try telling Dean that.”

Benny stiffens. Oh, he will. Like Dean said, they might be like brothers, but Sam comes first. If Dean’s been hurting Sam, holding this over his head, then Benny’s gonna make Dean eat his own words.

“Doesn’t matter what Dean thinks,” he says instead. “Or what I think or, hell, even what you think, because you always think you’re the scum of the Earth and deserve every bit of suffering you get. And that’s a damn lie. But I’m just statin’ facts. You were manipulated. I feel like I’m not getting the whole story, but the context doesn’t matter. You were pushed into it. Me? Ha,” Benny laughs humourlessly. “It’s not a drug for me. It’s a necessity, and each person I drink, no matter how few and far between they are, is just another reminder of that. And let’s face it – every bag is one person who won’t be getting the blood they need.”

“Benny, that’s not – “

“Nope. Stop right there. This isn’t a ‘Who’s the Worst Person?’ contest.” He would definitely win that, though. “We got off track. The real point here is that you’re an idiot, and if you  _ever_  put your life in front of mine like that again . . . “ Benny trails off. He doesn’t have a good threat. Not for Sam.

Surprisingly, Sam laughs. Albeit small, it’s an actual laugh that lights up his eyes. Small victories. “You and Dean are about equally bad at that. The difference being that Dean’s had years to think on it and still can’t think of a good way to end that.”

Sam clears his throat, and although a portion of his smile remains, he’s suddenly serious again. “I can count on one hand the number of people I trust with my life. In fact, I only need three fingers.” 

“Sounds about right,” Benny agrees in an unmistakably lewd tone. It startles another laugh out of Sam and is more than worth the smack on the arm it earns him.

“Okay,” Sam sighs. “I don’t know about you, but crying that hard knocks me out. I’m gonna sleep. But, hey,” he says, grabbing onto Benny’s shirt when he stands up. “I’d really like it if you stayed.”

Benny wants to. Damn does he want to. But instead, he bends to kiss Sam gently – always gently – and says, “Dean threatened me with death earlier, so I think it’s best to play it safe. But I’ll make you breakfast in the morning and be there when you wake up.”

Sam looks a little put out, but he finally agrees. Benny takes the book Sam was reading and sets it on the bedside table as Sam lays his pillows down in preparation of sleep.

“Sam?” Benny says to get his attention. When Sam looks up, Benny takes both of his hands in his own and kisses the knuckles. Sam’s face turns pink, and it’s a more comforting sight than usual. “Thank you for trusting me with your story. You didn’t have to tell me, and it was obviously hard for you. So thank you.”

Sam looks like he doesn’t know how to respond. Then he pulls their joined hands towards him so he can kiss Benny’s in turn. “Thank you for being honest with me,” he almost whispers.

Benny’s voice is caught in his throat, so he just nods and lets their hands fall between them. 

“Get some sleep,  _cher_ ,” he whispers as Sam starts to settle in and he backs his way towards the door, turning the light out before he leaves.


End file.
